


Happy New Year, Lovey

by KrumPuffer



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Celebrations, Complete, Drinking, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Kissing, New Year's Eve, Older Woman/Younger Man, Oral Sex, Sex, Sexual Content, Smut, The Three Broomsticks (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:42:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28457757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrumPuffer/pseuds/KrumPuffer
Summary: It's Ron Weasley's first New Year's Eve without Hermione Granger at his side.  He finds himself at The Three Broomsticks, alone and enjoying the view of the beautiful, exotic and much older Madame Rosmerta.  Will Ron ring in the new year lusting over the first woman to stir his libido or will he spend it fulfilling his youthful fantasies?
Relationships: Madam Rosmerta/Ron Weasley
Comments: 5
Kudos: 14





	Happy New Year, Lovey

Ron sat at the bar, no need to take up a table when he was drinking alone. The tables were needed for large groups of friends—friends that on this particular night were ringing in the new year together.

To Ron’s defence, the bar seats at The Three Broomstick’s weren’t so bad, not when Madame Rosmerta was the bartender for the night.

_Madame Rosmerta._

He liked Madame Rosmerta.

For as long as he could remember she was his idea of the perfect woman. Long wild dark curls with traces of natural silver running through, like tinsel on a beautiful Christmas tree--the true signs of a _woman._ And her eyes—her _eyes_ —he could gaze into them like you gaze at the ocean when on a holiday. They were dark and mysterious and always lined with thick black, bringing out the natural almond shape of them. Her eyes, Ron thought, were, _exotic._

Everything about Rosmerta was exotic. 

Her plump lips lined in a deep red, beckoning men and women in like a crimson blood bath, he was certain a single kiss from her would kill a man. Every word escaping those lips painting the story of a far-off land, about a lover or an enemy, or a mix of both and the great escape from death itself.

Everything about Rosmerta was mysterious as well. For as long as Ron had been visiting The Three Broomsticks, he realized that he didn’t know anything concrete about her. Who was she really? Were the stories she told all true, things she had lived to tell the tale of? Or was it all a parlour trick, to lore men and women in to drink more, as no one could walk away from a Rosmerta parable? How old was she? Where did she live? Was she married? These seemed like things you would find out over the years, but Ron sat at the bar, watching the most beautiful and intriguing women he had ever seen pour a frothing drink for a goblin, and he realized he knew nothing about her, and he found himself wanting to know _everything_.

Rosmerta was an enigma.

He drank back the warm bottom of his beer and decided he should head home, the flat above the joke shop would be all his tonight as George would be out gallivanting with a parade of wild cronies following behind him.

He _should_ head home.

But the view was nice, and the drinks were strong and being alone at home seemed lonelier than being alone at a bar. 

So, another beer, and a few more stolen moments watching the first woman to stir his libido was how he decided to ring in a new year. A new year post-war, with no bad guys trying to kill him—that he knew of. A new year, filling in the role of a dead brother, a funnier brother, at the joke shop. A new year in the shadows of Harry Potter, the best friend, _and_ brother-in-law.

A new year without Hermione, the _first_ year without Hermione.

Ron lifted his hand in attempt to pull the terribly busy, very cheerful--despite having to work New Year’s Eve--Rosmerta, from a very animated conversation she was having with what Ron would consider a _very_ handsome wizard. Leave it to Ron to pick the one bar where the only other single bloke in the building looked like a model. 

His luck was _shit_.

He waved again, this time a little more dramatically and caught the barmaid’s eye—her extraordinarily beautiful dark almond eyes. She shot him a wink, wrapped up the story, to which the _model_ laughed hysterically, a little too hysterically if Ron was being honest, and then she headed his way.

Her hips swayed as she crossed the tiny space behind the bar, stopping to bump an open bar cabinet shut with her hip. Ron watched amazed, his jaw on the floor as she manoeuvred her curvy body around the small space. She didn’t miss a beat, and she managed to do it all with a smile that sent a jolt through his body. Every move seemed to be calculated, to radiate the utmost amount of sex appeal one could have. 

Did she ever tire of being so sensual? Or was it second nature to her, not an act at all, but a way of life?

She had more sex appeal in her big toe than Ron had in his entire body, _Merlin she is perfect,_ he thought.

“What’ll ya have Lovey?” she asked, the pet name one she probably used on everyone, but it felt good being called it just as well.

Especially considering Hermione hated pet names. He was Ronald, she was Hermione. That was that.

“Yeah, just another of the same.” he sputtered at her, flustered and nervous at her closeness.

“Alright Lovey, another pale ale coming your way. Can I pour you a shot of fire whisky on the house? Every ginger should have a shot of fire whiskey on New Year’s Eve.”

“I, don’t, sure,” he said, growing flushed at his inability to talk in full sentences around Rosmerta.

“Well, what’ll it be Lovey, _don’t_ or _sure_?” she said teasingly.

Ron shook his head yes, then managed to stammer, “Sure.”

Rosmerta slammed her palm to the bar in celebration at his acceptance of the whiskey, “Alright then, one fire whiskey, one beer, and one very happy, very handsome ginger at the bar.”

_Handsome? Who was she talking about?_ Ron thought.

Ron took the small shot glass and tossed back the hot cinnamon flavoured liquor. A shiver ran down his back as the heat of the liquid warmed him to his bones.

Rosmerta watched with a grin that seemed to go on for days, exposing her perfectly straight teeth. _Everything,_ he thought, _was perfect about her._ Then his mind wandered to what other parts of her might look like, but he quickly shook those thoughts away—he wouldn’t disrespect her. 

“Thank you,” he said meekly as he chased the shot with his beer, amazed with the instant head change—he should have eaten dinner.

“Another?” she asked, her smirk making it all the more tempting.

“No, no, I better stick to beer or I’ll be sorry.”

_Finally,_ he thought, _a complete sentence!_

“I like it, a man that knows his limits.”

Ron smiled nervously at the compliment and watched as Rosmerta made her way to the couple a few seats over to serve them both fancy golden drinks—the New Year’s Eve _speciality_ drink, and then back down to the model looking wizard at the end of the bar.

_Of course, she found her way back to him_ Ron thought, if she was leaving the bar with anyone tonight it was never going to be him.

He chugged down the rest of his beer and decided it probably best to call it a night. His head was already a mess, he didn’t need to get drunk. He didn’t need to owl Hermione after they both had promised not to. He didn’t need to stay here and lust over Rosmerta. And he sure as hell didn’t need a hangover. Tomorrow was a new year, and he was making big resolutions, the last thing he wanted to do was start those resolutions with his head in the loo.

Ron slapped a few sickles and a knut on the bar top to cover far more than just his beers and the complimentary shot and spun in his chair to leave.

He didn’t get far before he heard a whistle, not just any whistle, the infamous _Rosmerta_ whistle. She often did it to get the bars attention for a special toast, or when someone was getting too rowdy. But when Ron turned his head, to see what the whistle was for, he found himself both stunned and excited to see it was in fact, for him.

His first Rosmerta whistle, maybe tonight wasn’t so bad after all.

She raised her chin at him, and then patted the bar in front of her where he had been sitting. He raised a finger to his chest, _Me?_ he mouthed, and she shook her head yes, with a raised eyebrow and a devious look in her eyes.

He went instantly hot. His cheeks flushed. It could be the fire whiskey sure, but all signs pointed to Rosmerta and the look she wore for him. 

He made his way back to his seat, a million things crossing his mind, and landing on, she was calling him back to get the change for the big tip he left behind, that had to be it. She didn’t want that big of a tip. Maybe he insulted her?

He decided against taking a seat, to be safe, just in case this had nothing to do with her wanting him at the bar, and everything to do with her thinking he accidentally left too much money for his bill.

She leaned in and said in a sultry voice, “Leaving so soon Weasley?” Her hot breath much to close to his neck, causing goosebumps from head to toe.

“I, just, was, I, bedtime.” He stammered embarrassingly.

“Bedtime? On New Year’s Eve, with only a halfie before midnight?” she asked incredulously.

“I—I don’t want to watch everyone kiss.” He said, abashed by his candour.

“And why don’t you have someone to kiss here with you?” She asked, no issues cutting to the heart of the issue with him.

“We broke up, before the holidays. Decided to start the new year fresh. We—we fell out of love. Still friends. But we weren’t right for each other— _that_ way. We were Hogwarts sweethearts. We fell in love during a war because it was safe, and we both needed safe. But when the war was over, and life became easier—or safe, and we realized that we only worked when we needed it to work and decided to end it before things got messy so that we could remain friends.”

She poured him a beer and pushed it across the bar top. He accepted and took a nice long drink, it was cool in his very hot, very nervous stomach.

“Sounds like an incredibly mature breakup.” She said, pouring herself a shot of something silver with a pink fizz at the top.

“It was, Hermione is very—smart, and I’m very—chill, so I guess she devised a plan, as she often does, and I agreed with it, as I often did, and now we are both ringing in the new year, for the first time since we were twelve without each other’s company.”

“So, Ron, where is _she_ tonight?”

“Wait, how do you know my name?”

Rosmerta laughed, “I’m good friends with your brother…”

_Please don’t say, Charlie,_ he thought, if it was Charlie, that meant his chances were shit with her, not that weren’t already shit, but Charlie, he was, well, Charlie.

“…Charlie.” she finished.

Ron felt his shoulders sink. Of course, Charlie and Rosmerta had been a thing, why wouldn’t they have been?

She continued, “He is a good friend of mine, and when I saw your signature red hair, I knew you were a Weasley, just wasn’t sure which one, so many of you handsome devils running around.”

“Well, sorry to disappoint, I’m no Charlie, so you’re stuck with me as your Weasley company this New Year’s.”

“I’m not sorry. If you weren’t here who would I have flirted with all night, Lovey?” she asked.

Ron hadn’t heard her right, there was no way, “Flirted?” he asked.

“Has it been that long since a woman showed interest in you Ron?” she asked, sipping her fizzing drink.

“I think you might be the first woman to _ever_ show interest. And, I am embarrassed to admit, but since we’re being honest here, I’ve had an interest in you for as long as I knew woman were something other than moms and teachers.”

Rosmerta let out an approving laugh, “Am I that old? Oh, Merlin, I am, aren’t I?” she asked with humour.

“You _are_ older than me, but if I can be honest, yet again, while I still have it in me to talk in full sentences, you are still the most beautiful woman in here tonight, and most nights for that matter,” Ron said, _definitely the liquor talking,_ he thought.

Rosmerta sipped her drink again, and Ron watched as her cheeks filled with colour. He had made the most confident woman he knew blush, life goal accomplished.

Ron took another sip of his beer and watched as Rosmerta turned to make a few more fizzing drinks for a group of witches at a table behind him. She stopped back at the end of the bar and Ron felt his stomach drop as she leaned in to kiss the very handsome, model wizard on the cheek. The wizard stood and they held hands and laughed a bit more and then, after a much too long hug, the wizard left, and Ron didn’t know what to make of it all.

“Who was that?” Ron asked, knowing it was none of his damn business, but far past the point of biting his tongue, the drinks were finally hitting, and his mouth was loose and ready to find out where this flirty banter might take him and Rosmerta after midnight.

“The handsome wizard that just left?” she asked, and Ron hated her admittance that she found him attractive, as stupid as that was, considering even Ron knew he was a handsome bloke.

“Yeah, the one you just kissed goodbye.”

“That was my cousin Rodger,” she said, as she closed out a tab in the cash register, “Well, he’s not _really_ my cousin, but we grew up together, so we’ve always called each other cousin, because it was too much work to explain to people that we were more than friends, but not like _that._ ”

Ron felt sudden relief, so he celebrated his internal victory with another chug of his beer, that he noticed was magically full again.

“So why are you alone tonight Lovey? Where are all your friends?” she asked, between serving drinks and taking payments, she was incredible at multitasking.

“A big party, at Harry’s house. Harry Potter, that is.”

She raised a questioning eyebrow, “Why are you not there, Lovey?”

“Hermione.” He said, and then realized he needed to do a little more explaining. “I thought it might be weird, for us both to be there so fresh after our breakup, and I wanted her to have fun, and not feel like she had to figure out how to act around me at a big New Years party, so I decided to let _her_ have tonight, with our friends. I didn’t tell anyone I wasn’t going. Otherwise, they would have forced me to come. I have great friends; I don’t want to paint them in the wrong colour. This was just the best move for me and Hermione. So, I just sorta, didn’t show up.”

Rosmerta placed both hands on the bar and leaned in, “ _That_ , is the kindest thing you could have done for her, and possibly for yourself. I admire how much you know what you want, and what you stand for. Not a quality I see in the men at the bar most nights, its—refreshing.”

Ron laughed, who was she fooling? He knew nothing of what he wanted, or what he stood for. He was lost most days without Hermione planning his every move. He was working a dead-end job for his brother, with no visible future plans. He was single, and pinning over a much older, very experienced, far too beautiful woman. Ron decided she had him all wrong.

“I think I have you fooled Rosmerta, I think you might be reading me wrong.”

Rosmerta pulled back, the smile on her face both knowing and sexy, “There are two things _know_ I do well, one is reading people, the other you will just have to find out for yourself.” She said, with a wink and then, before he could even process what that might mean, Rosmerta did another one of her famous whistles, and the whole bar looked up at her, “Count down is in five minutes, I’ll be making my rounds with champagne, and that’s all I’ll be offering until midnight, so take it or toast with an empty glass.”

The bar went wild with cheers for her little speech, and Ron didn’t know why, she really didn’t say anything great, but they loved her, everyone loved her, the bar held on to every word this woman said, and every smile she gave. The women wanted to be her, and the men wanted to be _with_ her.

_I’m going to kiss Rosmerta at midnight,_ Ron thought confidently. He didn’t know how, or why he would even think she would go for it, but he would try, and if she turned him down, at least he would leave here tonight knowing he gave it a go.

“What’ll it be Lovey? I know you were wanting to stick to beer, but my rules are final, and I’m only serving champagne from here on out, will you be toasting with your cup full of bubbly or are you going to miss out on the fun?”

Ron reached for a champagne fluke that felt absurdly light in his drunken hand, she winked and filled it to the brim, he smiled a foolish grin.

She came around the bar, a full bottle of champagne in her hand and took the seat next to him, she waved her wand, and a rowdy rock song came on, The Muggle Parade, a new band that was pumping out post-war anthems all year. The crowd began to dance, and finish the last of what they were drinking, bodies were growing closer, eyes were red and glossy and happy. The mood was everything Ron needed tonight, and to think he almost left. To think he almost missed the opportunity to be the man Rosmerta chose to sit next to while drinking her champagne straight from the bottle.

“Can I ask you something?” Ron said, turning to face Rosmerta, her cheeks red with warmth and drunkenness, his thigh pressed against her thigh, heat radiating between them.

“Anything Lovey.” She said, running her hand up his leg, lingering a second to long right before she met his groin, right before she stroked her way back down to his knee.

“How are you so smart? You always know what to say. You always have a great story to tell. And you’re always so confident. How?”

Rosmerta lifted the bottle to her lips and took a swig as she thought about her answer to his question, her other hand continued to rub his leg. His mind was torn between the sensation of her hands on him and the need to get inside her brain just a little more before he was too far gone to think straight.

“I guess the only answer I have to give is that I have lived a lot. Loved a lot. Drank my fair share of rum. I’ve kissed who I wanted and made love under the full moon more than once, oh, and I never, _ever_ , took advice from men in trench coats.”

The song dulled down, and the crowd started to shout all together, TEN, NINE, EIGHT—Ron held Rosmerta’s gaze, her eyes glazed and sparkling under the lights of the bar—SEVEN, SIX—they began to count along—FIVE, FOUR, THREE, TWO, ONE—the bar erupted into cheers and the clanking of glasses. Rosmerta toasted her bottle of champagne into Ron’s glass and they both took a drink.

“Happy new year’s Lovey.” She said gently into his ear, her lips cool from the champagne placed gently on his warm skin there.

Without giving it another thought Ron turned his face to hers, dragging his lips gently across her cheek until they met her lips, and kissed her.

Rosmerta accepted his gentle kiss and appreciated the slowness of it all. In a room full of people shouting and hugging and kissing feverishly, she appreciated this young man and his ability to set his own pace when the world was raging around him. She scooted to the edge of the barstool to get her body closer to his, their legs pressed together, her chest to his.

She parted her lips for him and deepened the kiss with a press and pull of his mouth on hers—the press of his tongue, gliding against hers, the pull of her lips with a nip of his teeth. Their breath reckless despite their kiss being so careful and safe.

Rosmerta gently pulled away, her eyes a daze, “I’ve always wanted to kiss a Weasley man.” She admitted.

“But, what about Charlie?” he asked.

“What about Charlie? I said he was a friend, not a lover.”

“I just, I guess because he is so, so, I don’t know—handsome, I just assumed…”

“Well, Lovey, as I said before, I kiss who I want.” She said, reaching out to pull him by the shirt closer still. Her lips took his this time, with more urgency, and more assurance. Ron accepted this kiss, as she had accepted his. His hand found her face and held her close, growing greedy with need for her, all the desires of his youth coming to fruition.

Rosmerta broke the kiss, yet again, this time kissing her way to his ear. In a husky whisper she said, “The last call is at one, and then you will come home with me so I can show you what else I’m good at, and if I’m reading you right, and I’m certain I am, you want that too.”

Ron shook his head. Yes, yes, a million times yes, she _was_ reading him right.

“Okay then, its settled, Lovey,” she said, standing up, handing him her bottle of champagne, “Oh, and for the record, you kiss by the book my young Weasley man, I can’t wait to see what else you transcend at.”

And with a wink she was off, filling cups, hugging regulars, wishing a Happy New Year to everyone with a smile on her face and a sway in her hips, every now and then turning to shoot him a wink. Every minute that passed until she turned off the lights of the bar and took his hand felt like a greater countdown than the one celebrated this night around the world.

“Well, Lovey, are you ready to go do some celebrating of our own?” she asked, wrapping her arms around his tall shoulders, the press of her body against his was a jolt of energy that could push him through the night with all the stamina he could possibly need to handle a woman like Rosmerta.

Nerves overtook him in an instant. How could he live up to her sexual expectations? She had only hours ago admitted that she had taken many lovers, and she was so much older, so well versed in the story of what bodies do, and how to make the ending happy. What if he couldn’t satisfy her?

“I, I…” he stammered, overcome with second thoughts and insecurity, with only his one lover in his lifetime, he suddenly did not feel sufficient enough to bed the beautiful Madame Rosmerta.

“Are you nervous?” she asked gently.

He shook his head yes, unable to speak the word, _yes._

“Why are you so nervous Lovey? I have tasted your lips and they speak volume to what kind of lover you will be.”

“I’ve only ever had one woman.” He admitted, he felt like she should know, as to prepare her for what, disappointment? Possibly. Inexperience? Absolutely.

“And _I_ have had many lovers, and never one lover I have taken to my bed didn’t teach me something I didn’t know. Each lover has their own style and rhythm. Each lover leaves a different lasting impression. Please, I ask that tonight, you leave yours, Lovey.”

Ron shook his head again, but this time the _yes_ meant something entirely different. This time it was a _yes, I will_ , it was a _yes, let’s leave_.

Rosmerta lead the way to the alley behind The Three Broomsticks and before Ron could prepare for the pull of his insides, they were apparating and landing in front of a cottage on top of the hill that overlooked all of Hogsmeade. Ron squinted his eyes, taking in the view, he could see Diagon Alley and off in the distance the shrieking shack. It was a spectacular view and while he always noticed this little house on the hill it never dawned on him to wonder who occupied it. 

Of course, Rosmerta would have a dreamy little home, on a hill, away from everyone, yet with a view of everyone. Another mystery solved, another random fact about the enigma that was Rosmerta.

“Your house is perfect, I don’t know what I imagined for you, considering I have thought of you often in my life, but this, this wasn’t it,” Ron admitted, and she pulled him by the hand towards the front door.

“Wait until you see inside!”

The second they stepped through the front door warm air hit his face and an exotic scent his nose, dark spices, and traces of chocolate. It was extraordinary, colourful, and while it felt clean there was a kind of clutter about it that also made it feel chaotic—beautifully chaotic. Floral scarves draped over the lampshades creating an ambience suited for making love—it encouraged it. The air in the room seemed to further seduce Ron, he was in a daze at how sensual her home felt--his body responded.

Rosmerta gave him a second to take in the place, most men and women needed a minute to let their senses adapt to the overload of colour and scent and magic that filled her space.

“This way, Lovey,” she whispered in his ear.

Ron followed behind as she led the way to her bedroom, taking in the sway of her hips, hips he couldn’t wait to put his hungry hands all over. 

The room was lit with only the faint light of flickering candles, the shadows on the walls seemed to dance to the thud of his heart, nervous and anxious. Ron stepped into her space, her eyes wild and dark and wanting—wanting for _him_ —Ron couldn’t believe this was happening.

“Am I dreaming?” he asked, realizing after the words escaped him how immature they made him sound.

“Possibly,” she said, taking his hands and placing them on the lace-up front of her signature, red leather bustier top, “But if you're dreaming, then I’m dreaming too, Lovey.”

Ron ran trembling hands up and down the worn-in leather, tracing the soft fabric that laced her bodice tight. With nervous fingers, he pulled the perfect knot, untying and slowly until it began to unfasten. He could see her breath hitch as her body was released from its tight confinement, he was undoing her, and _undoing_ her.

He pulled the bustier open and Rosmerta took the lead, lifting her arms with encouragement. He lifted the thick leather above her head and tossed it to the ground. He watched in amazement as the fullness of her breast settled—heavy—her nipples hard and begging to be touched.

_A woman’s body,_ he thought as he took the weight of her bosom into his hands, pressing them up and letting them fall heavily again. They were beautiful under the thin white cotton of her peasant top, the dark brown of her nipple teasing through.

He lifted her arms this time, taking full control of what he wanted, what he _needed_ to see. Slipping the soft white material over her head slowly he watched as her body came alive for him. He skin a caramel sunset, a dessert he wanted to taste. He pushed the paisley skirt down from her voluptuous hips to reveal yet another secret about this woman--no panties.

The dark skin on her thighs was lined lightly with pale marks, the markings of time and life lived and age and maturity, he had never seen something so sexy, so beautiful. Rosmerta was glowing with age and she wore it well. She wore it confidently. Ron had never been more turned on.

He took a wobbly step back, between the New Year’s drinks and being drunk on the sight of her, his legs felt unsteady.

“You are the most beautiful woman I’ve seen.” He said, making sure not to miss a detail of her. Not to miss the way she had the perfect amount of hair on her sex, and a golden hoop in her belly button. He didn’t want to miss the way her waist was tiny and her hips robust. The way her breast swayed when she laughed—harmlessly—at the way he stood in awe of her.

“Now you, let me see you Lovey.”

Ron went to unbutton his trousers, while never taking his eyes off the magnificent woman in front of him.

“Here, let me help,” she whispered into his ear, reaching down. 

As she began to remove his clothing with her hands, her mouth got to work elsewhere, kissing up his neck, then nibbling at his ear.

_Rosmerta the multitasker,_ he thought, as she seemed to be doing ten things at once, and all of it so proficiently.

Before he knew it, Ron was naked, and fighting back his desire to shrink away shyly under her eyes. But Rosmerta was quick and left no time for his mind to linger in such a place.

Her mouth met his and her body followed. They were skin on skin, her hard nipples at his chest. His hard erection at her waist. They kissed like the lovers from every great book—feverishly and wanton.

His hands found her full head of hair, he gently pulled at her nape, exposing her neck to him where he finally tasted the exotic flavours of her. Running his tongue down to her collar bone, then sucking at the dainty bone there that has always acted as a distraction to him, she let out a moan and he felt lust for her surge through him like an unforgivable curse.

“Your collar bone,” he said, kissing and sucking, “Has always drove me mad.”

She let out a sultry giggle and his mouth ventured lower. He took her beautiful breasts into his hands gripping them tight until they spilt over, his mouth hungry as he took her dark nipple, sucking and pulling; he could feel her body swaying for him, begging for more. 

Ron met her mouth again, kissing her hard, pushing her body with his mouth and his weight towards her bed.

They fell back together; their bodies were a tangle immediately. Her long legs intertwined with his, he rolled her onto her back kissing her deeply only to be met by her strength as she rolled him onto his back and began to tease his erection, grinding against him, then pulling back, leaning in to kiss him, the weight of her bosom on his chest.

Ron took her power play, accepted her hungry lips, his hands found her full ass cheeks and smacked into them, gripping them tight; Rosmerta let out a moan of pleasure and he gripped her ass harder still. 

Ron rolled on top of her again, pinning her arms above her head, her hair a glorious mess sprawled out around her face like a halo. He moved down her body, not sure where this dominance and confidence was coming from. He kissed between her breasts, pushing them up to his face—he would drown in her body if she'd allow it, he was a lost sailor and she was a siren singing him to shipwreck.

He slid up her body, pressing his cock between her breasts, watching his length glide between her as he pinched and rolled her nipples.

“I love your red hair, I love seeing your pale skin against mine, I love watching your thick cock between my breasts. We are art, _we_ are making art.” She said in a low husky voice. “I want to taste you, I want to feel that girth between my lips, I want to stain you red, so you remember where your cock was tonight.”

Ron slid up her body further and without hesitation gave her what she wanted. Her lips parted for him and he pushed himself deep into her mouth without stopping until it would go no further. Her hands met his arse and pulled him further into her mouth, her eyes beginning to water at the depth of his cock. She set his body in motion with her hands, pulling him in and pushing him back—he fucked her mouth and she willed it so.

Ron felt his balls start to tighten, and he didn’t want it to end yet, not like this. He pulled out of her mouth in a jerk and sat back on his heels. 

“I, minute, I, need…” he sputtered.

“Take your time Lovey, we have all night.” She said, “Why don’t you take a minute to catch your breath and enjoy a little show.”

Rosmerta slowly pulled her legs apart, exposing her wet cunt to him, it was perfect, like a ripe peach, soft and begging to eaten. Her fingers stroked gently there, exposing to herself further, she began to rub into her clit, gentle circles at first then pressing harder. She let out a whimper and Ron couldn’t wait any longer, he needed to know what she felt like. He moved closer and as she continued to work her clit, he slid a finger into her sex, pushing into her as far as he could, then pulling out. She was so wet, his finger glided in—out—in again, this time with another finger added—out—in, this time with more force, he pushed in deep and twisted his finger up curling into her secret spot. Her hips bucked as he continued to fuck her deep with his hand, pulling out and pushing back in. 

He moved her fingers from her clit and replaced them with his mouth, she tasted so good, spicy almost—he knew she would. He sucked at her clit, pulling on it, then flipping his tongue against it, only to stop and suck again. He could feel her sex begin to clench around his fingers, milking his hand—he wanted to feel that on his cock.

He pulled his hand away and without thinking brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked away her wetness from them with a moan. He could come just from tasting her.

He lined his erection up to her sex and pushed into her. They both cried out in fervour at the feeling of their bodies together. 

She wrapped one leg around his back pushed the other up and over his shoulder and he began to pound into her. She was flexible, her leg pushed up high as he pushed the weight of his body onto her, fucking her deep, hitting her right where it mattered. She cried out on every thrust and it made him only fuck her harder, deeper.

The sound of their bodies smacking together, the sound of her wet cunt milking his cock filled the room.

He felt his orgasm about to hit as her cunt began to pulse around him, squeezing his cock.

“I’m going to…” he said, not sure if she was okay with him filling her with his come.

She pushed him off and rolled on top, the sudden change in pace pushed his orgasm back and he was grateful it wasn’t over yet.

Rosmerta climbed on top taking his cock deep inside her as she bottomed out on him. He watched up in a daze as she began to ride him, rolling her hips, and rocking back and forth. 

“This, Lovey, is the other thing I am good at.” She said, and then she began to fuck him hard, pounding herself onto his cock, riding him like she was built to do this, like it was her destiny to fuck this good, and this hard.

“I, come…can I come…” he managed.

“Yes, Lovey, fill me with you youthful seed.”

His hands gripped her ass again with a smack and then pulled her down onto his cock one last time, and with a cry of release, he came, filling her as her body quivered around him in her own release.

She rode him gently until he had been milked dry, and then ever so gently, she pulled off of his cock, watching as he slid from between her wet cunt.

“I can’t move.” He said, with a lust-fucked laugh, which caused her to giggle as well.

“Nor can I Lover.” She said.

“Lover?” he asked, breathlessly.

“Yes, after tonight, you are no longer _Lovey,_ tonight you became a _Lover._ ”

They both laid there, catching their breath, strung out on their orgasms.

Rosmerta ran her long fingers through the ginger hair above his spent cock and he felt as though that were a very intimate thing to do with a one-night stand, but he allowed it, he had never had anyone comfortable enough to do such a thing.

“That was the best sex of my life.” He admitted, staring at the ceiling.

“Oh, Lover, and that was just the start. Something tells me you learned a lot about yourself tonight.”

Ron smiled, because he had, “I learned a lot from _you._ ” He said.

Rosmerta rolled her body lazily on top of his, draping a leg over his, “Oh, no Lover, what you did tonight, that was all you. That was something you have always had in you, the ability to make love unabashedly, that was your true desires coming out, I was just the lucky lady to be there when you discovered it.”

Ron leaned up to meet her lips and kissed her gently, “Happy New Year, Rosmerta.” He said quietly.

“Happy New Year to you, _Lover.”_


End file.
